


Drabbles on Petunia's Inner Turmoil

by Empathetic_Ravenclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empathetic_Ravenclaw/pseuds/Empathetic_Ravenclaw
Summary: Short drabbles on how Petunia has felt about Harry as he ages, starting when Harry is one year and three months old.
Kudos: 4





	1. Harry: One Year and Three Months

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not own Harry Potter/J.K. Rowling's fictional work.
> 
> I do know how Petunia is portrayed in the books, however, there has always been an air of mystery surrounding adult Harry for me. If anything, these are just very short stories on how I feel Petunia felt during Harry's upbringing, feelings that she had to keep hidden for the rest of her life.

#### 

**Harry: One Year and Three Months**

“Petunia! I am taking our Dudley to the park.”

A loud, deep voice boomed up the quaint staircase of Number Four Privet Drive.

“Yes dear, I’m coming!” Petunia folded the last towel neatly on top of the clean linen pile. She gave a sideways glance to the toddler in the pen next to her. Unruly black hair, bright green eyes, playing with an empty tube that loo paper once adorned. Petunia took a deep breath and glided down the stairs, heels click and house dress swishing with every step.

“Have fun my favorite little Duddykins” Petunia cried, pinching fat cheeks and pulling a new Alpaca knitted winter hat further down a chubby face, hiding blonde patches of hair. Petunia kissed Vernon’s cheek and ushered them out into the crisp England fall day.

“See you later Petunia. If that _boy_ gives you any trouble, any trouble at all, you know where the key to the storage under the stairs is.” Vernon whispered this last part surreptitiously, looking around to make sure no neighbors were listening in on their front porch conversation. Vernon shifted Dudley onto his other hip and gave a quick wink to Petunia before walking to his car. Leave it to Vernon Dursley to drive to a park one block away.

It had been three months since Harry Potter was left on their doorstep and life was just starting to get back to normal. Well, as normal as normal can be with a magical toddler living under the same roof with three Muggles who refuse to accept his existence. Well, mostly refuse to accept his existence.

Petunia shut the door fast, goosebumps already forming along her arms, looking through the windowpane to watch Vernon back out of the driveway, Dudley already wiping some sticky substance on the back-passenger window. She inwardly cringed and turned to walk back up the stairs to her room where Harry sat quietly, watching the tattered mobile attached to the pen, once destroyed by a younger Dudley and taped together for Harry. One of Harry’s better “toys”, the mobile consisted of white, snowy owls and clouds, an omen for what was to come in Harry’s life, but currently unknown and unimportant in the present.

Petunia paused at the door frame of her shared room. His eyes… she hated them. She could not stand to look at the innocent green orbs that seemed to always search her face. They reminded her of everything she wanted as a kid and everything she could now never have as an adult. Harry was not a fussy child, already learning how to survive with neglectful caretakers. He seldom cried knowing that comfort did not exist for him under this roof. But Petunia knew it was time to bottle feed him.

Petunia sighed and walked back down the stairs again, this time more methodically and thoughtfully. She grabbed some formula from the back of the cupboard, hiding her stock to prevent Vernon from lashing out about how much money and food was really consumed by their “unwanted burden”. She may have complicated feeling towards the child, but she would never deliberately starve a child. She measured out the correct amount and added water to the bottle, heating it up quickly with their new microwave they installed after Vernon received a bonus at his drill company. Petunia squeezed the bottle, ensuring that the drops of formula on her forearm were not scalding.

Petunia went back up the stairs for a third time that morning, this time not taking pause and walking straight into her room. She swiftly picked Harry up from the play pen and walked to the reading chair on the other side of the room. Harry did not fuss, it was routine, the only comfort a one-year-old could have that did not have to involve unconditional love. Petunia sat down and cradled Harry in her arms. It was nothing but sharp angles with Petunia’s boney arms and Harry’s small frame. He was not malnourished, Petunia distinctly remembered baby pictures of Lily as a toddler; all skin-and-bones, bright green eyes, and whisps of curly auburn hair slowly taking over her head.

She brought the bottle up to his mouth and he latched easily. Petunia quickly glanced at her watch on her wrist that was holding the bottle upright. She should still have at least another thirty minutes before Vernon and Dudley came back, breaking the silence and calm of the house once more. She lifted her head up and surveyed her room. Clean. Spic and span. Once she put the folded linen away, there will not be a thing out of place besides the dusty old play pen. Petunia liked cleanliness, orderliness, control, though not for the reasons her counterpart thought. Cleaning and tidying was a distraction, a distraction from the very thing she was holding.

Harry made a small coughing noise and Petunia’s eyes went straight to the boy, forgetting to take the bottle away after some time to let Harry breathe. She moved the bottle to the small stand next to the chair and lifted Harry up to her shoulder and gently pat his back making sure no air bubbles remained. She grabbed the bottle and cradled him again, frowning. Feeding time was the hardest for her, the green eyes searching her face were impossibly intimate.

She said she hated Harry. Told Vernon just as much when he showed up on their doorstep, more to create peace in the house than to act maliciously, but Vernon took it the latter way and made sure that anyone who knew about their nephew knew how much of a burden he was on the family but how wonderful of a family they were to take him in. She didn’t hate Harry. She hated what Harry made her feel. Hated those green eyes reflecting in her the jealously she felt towards her sister. Shame still shone through her face, turning her cheeks and neck a bright red, even after decades have passed since they were sisters in more than name, living under the same roof. Decades of secretly longing to go to Hogwarts, to know magic intimately like her sister had, to feel a sense of belonging, to feel close to her sister like that Severus boy somehow had. Her jealousy got out of hand when she got older. It turned to loathing, though she knew deep down inside the only person she could really loathe was herself.

All those years missed. Not attending Lily’s wedding to James, missing the birth of her nephew, Lily missing the birth of Dudley. No, she did not hate Harry. She hated the regrets that seemed to seep off him as he grew every day, showing mannerisms that painfully reminded her of Lily, some she knew had to come from James. She knew she deserved the emotions that came with Harry, knew it was her punishment to bear in secret for the rest of her life for the way she treated her sister.

Harry’s eyes slowly drooped closed, the sucking coming to a slow rhythmic beat until they finally stopped all together, the bottle’s nipple abandoned, milk covering his lips and gently sliding down the side of his face. Petunia got up carefully after placing the bottle back on the table, the bottle immediately creating a ring of milk on the stand. With Harry still cuddled in her arms, she grabbed one of Dudley’s old burp clothes from the clean linen pile. She takes a corner of the cloth and gently traces Harry’s face with it, a frown still on her face, eyes glazing over. The feeling is not new, in fact it is getting old. Bitterness can only last so long, but what it turns in to depends on the day, her mood, Harry’s blossoming personality, Vernon and Dudley’s whereabouts.

Petunia placed Harry gently back in the play pen, carefully placing a blanket on his lower half, the heat on high enough in the little house that not much coverage is needed. She looked at the stand, the bottle, the white rings it created, and sat back down in the chair, enveloped in subdued silence for once, listening to Harry’s soft snores that could only be considered charming coming from a small child. Petunia basked in the few moments she had. Dirty cloth on her lap, slender fingers loosely gripping a corner. Dirty end table. Something _not_ clean for more than one minute. Gazing at her sister’s creation, Petunia let herself feel her bitterness melt into sadness, just for this one moment.

A loud cry knocked her out of her reverie. It was too noisy to be Harry, too harsh and too abrasive. With a quick glance out the window from her chair, Petunia realized she did not hear the engine of the car come into the driveway. She quickly took the cloth in her hand and wiped the milk rings from the table, hoisting herself up from the chair and throwing the cloth in the dirty laundry hamper by the bed. She grabbed the folded linen and placed it in the linen closet meticulously before glancing once more upon Harry. Dudley’s crying did not stir him, in fact Harry’s mouth was slightly ajar now.

Petunia went quick down the stairs, meeting Vernon and her son as soon as he opened the door to come inside, Dudley throwing a fit in his arms.

“Here” Vernon said disgruntled, detaching Dudley from his hips and half throwing him into Petunias arms. How different it felt, Petunia thought. Not a slender body like Harry’s, but a full, pudgy frame that assumed Petunia’s stick-like arms. Petunia thought better to ask how the park went. Instead, she walked to the kitchen with Dudley on her hip and placed the rest of the unused formula inside the refrigerator. Vernon stomped into the kitchen after hanging up his jacket.

“I see the cupboard under the stairs is still locked in place. That _thing_ didn’t cause you any trouble while we were gone, did it?” Vernon asked as he sat down at the table, undoubtedly expecting Petunia to quiet Dudley AND get lunch on the table simultaneously and flawlessly, like a good housewife should.

“No, dear.” Petunia stated as she set Dudley into his booster seat at the table, taking off his winter hat and jacket and strapping him in over his thigh rolls. “He was quiet and stupid as always.”

Petunia inwardly cringed at her choice of wording. She would never, no, _could_ never tell Vernon the tumult of feelings she was met with every time Harry was mentioned. She turned away from the table and walked towards the counter quickly to regain her composure, to place the mask upon her face for husband and son.

“Good one, Petunia." Vernon roared. "Now what are you serving us for lunch? You know our Duddykins has to grow up big and strong like his daddy!”


	2. Chapter Two: Harry, Twelve Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petunia slips Harry cold soup, but not for the reason we were lead to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I do not own Harry Potter or anything J.K. Rowling affiliated.

### Chapter Two: Harry, Twelve Years

Petunia stood next to the stove, both hands curling around the counter's edge. Vernon was at work, Dudley outside with his gang. She knew they would be home soon. She wanted to do more, she always wanted to do more. 

She unclasped her hands from the counter and drew the wooden stirring spoon from the drawer. In slow circles she stirred the canned chicken noodle soup. He deserved better, she knew that. But what would Vernon say if he saw their leftovers gone? Who was she kidding, Dudley would notice it missing first and throw a fit. Petunia laid the spoon on a towel next to the stove, turned around, and rested her back on the counter that she was previously gripping. After staring off into space for a few more minutes, she turned around and turned the stove off, taking the pot of soup off the burner and placing it on a cloth on the counter. She grabbed a bowl from the drying rack, one with a chip in it that she knew Vernon wouldn't mind Harry using, and poured the soup slowly in, making sure it didn't splash everywhere.

She stared at the noodled letters rising in the bowl, the yellow grease snaking its way around the edges. What could she really do, though? She was almost completely numb to the way Vernon and Dudley treat Harry, even stepping in and making shrewd comments from time-to-time herself. She didn't recognize herself anymore. Eleven years ago she may have been able to look Harry in the eyes, albeit her emotions taking over. Now, though, now when she happened to make eye contact with Harry, those green eyes refused to search her face. Instead, she was met with a cold, hard stare. She deserved it, she knows this, accepts her lifelong punishment and imprisonment inside of her mind. Harry was no longer the helpless toddler who relied on Petunia for sustainment.

Petunia sighed. What could she do to prove to Harry that she _knows_ she doesn't deserve his love, his attention, his presence? How could she prove to him that, despite how Vernon and Dudley and even Petunia herself treated Harry, that really, Petunia only did it out of anguish and hate for herself? For a fleeting moment she thought of forming some secret code with the letters in the soup. She withdrew a spoon from the cutlery drawer and started shoveling through the soup, trying to find "I"'s and "M"s to form an "I'm". The beginning of an apology. Petunia's head quickly shot up. What was she thinking? Writing an apology in noodled letters to a twelve-year-old boy? How preposterous. Petunia threw the spoon back in the bowl of soup, though what she really wanted to do was throw it across the room. She thought she accepted her role in the family. She thought Harry going to Hogwarts would make it easier to pretend to hate him for the three months that he was home during summer. It wasn't though, not at all. It was much easier to excuse her missteps, her accidental shows of affection towards Harry when he was a baby, when he was not able to take care of himself at all. But now? The slightest agreeance towards Harry or his actions would surely drive Vernon to take Dudley and leave, to classify her as a "freak" along with the boy and her late sister’s family. She would not lose her stability, despite the consequences. 

She will just have to keep trudging on. Feed Harry when she can. Delay Vernon and Dudley's torture when she can, surreptitiously, of course. A car horn rears her out of her head. How long had she been standing there? The soup. Petunia stuck a finger in the broth and realized it had turned cold. She heard a car door slam. It was too late; she couldn't heat it up again for him. Petunia begrudgingly grabbed the soup and quickly mounted the stairs to Dudley's old bedroom. She scowled at the ridiculous dog door Vernon installed. Another fight she fought in her head, but not out loud. She slipped the soup through the hole and heard Harry spring from his bed. She heard slurping noises, then some utterings to the boy's owl. He had given the white creature the only substance in that bowl, Petunia's ghost attempt of an apology being swallowed by ball of fluff. It was such a Lily thing to do, sacrifice a basic need so that a helpless creature could flourish. After all, she sacrificed herself for the boy on the other side of the wall. She didn't know exactly how she knew Lily died, didn’t understand magic to that extent. She knows Lily and her husband were killed by some terrible wizard, but, she could piece the puzzle together in her mind. Her sister was fierce, loyal, protective. She would never let a living being hurt the ones she loved the most. Petunia knew she was too cowardly for that trait to pass to her. 

Later that night Petunia lay in bed, not being able to sleep due to the snores coming from next to her as well as the room next to theirs. Like father, like son. She was just drifting off to sleep when she saw car headlights flash through her window. Car headlights flash through her second-story window. Something didn't make sense. She held her breath, blinked a few times to get used to the dark once again, and heard murmurs coming from Harry's bedroom. Magic was in the air, she could feel it. All those decades ago, Lily showing off the odd things she could do, she knew what that tension felt like. There were bars on Harry's window, Vernon treating him like an animal. She had a feeling she knew what was happening, so when Vernon stirred the first time, she quickly shot a hand out from under the blanket and started rubbing his back to get him back into a deep sleep. The owl was screeching too loud though, creaks on the stairs told her that someone, or multiple people, were heaving something heavy up the flight, through the hallway, back to Harry's room. They were being too loud and there was only so much she could do to try and cover the odd noises coming from down the hall. Finally, Vernon shot up in bed and without a second glance tore from the room. 

Petunia stared at the doorway where her husband just ran from in shock. She can tell herself that she tried. Maybe she held Vernon off long enough for Harry to escape. She dared not look out of the window to see the commotion. No, she better just stay back and not say a word. She has had good practice on doing precisely that for twelve years. She didn't pop out of bed until she heard Vernon's yell that was met with a vehicle revving noise. Harry had escaped. With a deep sigh, Petunia dragged herself out of bed and met Dudley in the hallway to face what her and Vernon’s conversation would be for the next two months, at the least. There was no Harry. Petunia smiled to herself quickly before masking her face with concern once more.


End file.
